


What I Mean (To You)

by j_gabrielle



Category: Hannibal (TV), Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguity, Crossover, Drabble, Hannibal is so totally Sebastian's counterpart, M/M, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kink meme fill <a href="http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1847.html?thread=1417015#cmt1417015">here</a>. The prompter requested a Black Butler crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Mean (To You)

**Author's Note:**

> This trope/verse doesn't make sense unless you check [this](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Butler) out first. Probably it won't make sense even then.
> 
> I've been a HUUUUUGE Black Butler fan since 2009, and it's been a long time wish to write crossover between it and the pairing du jour in my life at that moment. I can't say I'm totally pleased with this; having only had an hour or so to finish this up. But I hope you, my dear readers, will forgive my mistakes and enjoy this little offering none the less.

The assailant lies in a tangled heap of broken bones and partly dismembered limbs. A pool of blood creeps and stains the marble floor of the foyer a brilliant crimson. Parts of the shattered ceiling surround his body like a garden of broken glass shards and plaster.

‘This is going to be a tricky one.’ Hannibal muses as he surveys the damage.

His Master sits on the steps, absently scratching behind the ears of one of the many strays he feels compelled to adopt. As he comes closer, Hannibal is aware of the way Will’s back is a tensed rigid line.

“Did he hurt you, My Lord?” He asks, jerking his head at the hound; a signal that is obeyed. “My Lord? Is he from the Queen’s Guard Dog?”

Will does not turn to look at him, but he shakes his head slightly, the chestnut brown curls of his hair moving with the motion. ‘Stubborn little boy.’ Hannibal huffs in annoyance and admiration.

The dying sun casts a bright gold shower of light into the destruction in front of them—as if trying to keep the embrace of the moon at bay for a little while longer. They are acutely aware of the accusing stares the old Graham forebears were levelling at them from their cold frozen portraits. Hannibal would have been happy with replacing their smug, haughty paintings with pictures of fruits in bowls and hounds at hunt, but his Master had explicitly ordered him to restore the Graham Manor to tiniest cracks in the plaster. To replicate the only home he’d ever known even though there could never be bringing back the humans his Master had lost.

With a touch of his mind, Hannibal lights the chandelier above them. Master does not approve… Of his showing off. But Hannibal reckons he might be given a pass for just this once.

The twisted lump on the floor remains immobile. Discreetly checking his pocket watch he clears his throat. “My Lord, it is time for dinner.” He says smoothly.

“What did you prepare?” Will whispers, voice rough and cracking.

“For starters, a simple fresh garden salad dressed with sour cream, bacon bits and apple cubes. The main course will be pig roast with baked apples and sweet sauce. Dessert will be an apple tarte tatin served with coffee. The Master may choose to accompany his meal with cider pressed on the grounds.”

Will chuckles, a sound that is trapped between the notes of incredulity and insanity. “Apples, Hannibal? Is this because of all the apples Alana sent us from her family’s orchards?”

Hannibal pauses before answering, “I would be lying if I said that it did not play an influence in the deciding of tonight’s menu.” There is barely perceptible twitch in his left eyebrow. “I dislike the smell of rotting apples.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” Will says shortly. He rises suddenly, hand reaching out to grip the banister. He takes a few short breaths before turning, shedding his bloody clothes as he ascends the stairs. The mark of their contract glows a deep throbbing violet against the paleness of Will’s chest, right over where his heart is, and Hannibal yearns to reach out to touch it. To reaffirm that this beautiful boy and his feast of a soul is truly his. That he did not miss this in his usual perceptions of mankind’s corruption.

William Graham called out to him in the throes of his last breath. He does not want revenge, or power, or riches. In fact, his _Master_ has yet to truly tell him what he wants from this little contract of theirs. Any lesser demon would have refused outright to bind himself to a child like him that has yet to decide. But Hannibal is a demon of many millennia in him. He has watched empires rise and fall, witnessed evil in the hearts of men grow alongside the pure goodness, and knows he will live to see many more do the same.

Besides, Will is a _wonderful_ distraction in his long existence despite his hesitance in talking about his goals.

“Clean this up.” Will says simply, naked, arching his neck to look up at him from a lower step. He does not break their eye contact, maintaining as he waits. It is a game they both play; to the outside world, he is the loyal, silent butler to the eccentric heir of the Graham shipping business. It is nothing more than a game to them, but Hannibal often wonders what other kinds of spices he could introduce to their little relationship to spice Will’s soul a little more.

‘Debauchery and hedonism.’ He thinks, ‘Definitely.’

Hannibal bows, breaking the contact. He can feel Will moving past him. “Also, prepare a banquet for tomorrow. Alana is visiting with her friends the Lord and Lady Crawford.” He pauses, stopping just at the step above his. Hannibal feels the gentle pull of a finger under his chin. Will waits until he has tilted his face upwards, “Get me a meeting with Phantomhive. I believe we have much to discuss. Do it in secret. I hear he too has a demon at his side. Be careful. That is an order.”

The corners of the demon’s lips curl upwards, letting a hint of sharp canines flash in the flickering candlelight.

“Yes, My Lord.”

 

 

 

[end.]

**Author's Note:**

> This is an [apple tarte tatin](http://www.appetite.ph/recipe/apple-tarte-tatin)
> 
> Also, if you have any prompts or things you'd like to see me write (or even if you just want to say hi), drop an ask in my tumblr askbox [here](http://www.randomingoftherandomness.tumblr.com/ask). I can't promise you the promptness of my replies, but you can be assured that there will be one. :)


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